Pickpocket
by roodlz
Summary: Cap told their rag tag group of 'Avengers' to earn their keep by fair and legal means. Tony thought that pickpocketing could totally be considered fair, because really, he was just a wake up call to personal security. He just never imagined that trying to pickpocket up and coming businessman Loki Laufeyson would cause him so much grief. (kid!fic AU)
1. Tony was eight

**A/N: **Hello, all! I've been sitting on Pickpocket for awhile, and there are four chapters up on AO3, soon to be five. I realized I needed to play a game of catch up, so here I am with the first chapter!

At some point, I had the idea of 'What if Tony was a pickpocket? What if Tony tried to pickpocket _Loki_?!' It spiraled from there. Pickpocket is a slow build story, and it'll take a little while to reach the events of the story summary. In the meantime, there's plenty of angst to be had with kid!Tony to keep you occupied!

* * *

Tony didn't remember much about being eight. Well, he remembered some things.

He remembered his father always being busy, and that his mother never seemed to be around, unless they were holding a fancy banquet in the mansion's ballroom. He remembered the family butler, Jarvis, who snuck Tony cookies after dinner when Howard said eight years old was too old for dessert. He remembered spending a lot of time in the tool shed, tinkering with the old TVs and lawnmowers that Jarvis managed to sneak in when his father was locked in his lab.

He built his first engine at eight, though his dad didn't really care. Jarvis said it was marvelous, and the gardener was proud to use Tony's first motor on his favorite lawn mower. Uncle Obie ('Call him Obadiah, Anthony,' his father used to say) told Tony that he was a genius, and he started bringing Tony blueprints for guns and rockets whenever he visited.

At eight, Tony had never gone to school with other kids, so he mostly remembered things about the mansion, and completing coursework with a tutor. He studied engines and schematics with Uncle Obie, and if he was really good, he got to design things himself.

But the thing he remembered most was the squealing of tires, the sound of glass shattering, a huge, fiery explosion, and then the thought that he was dying, and would never see the world or build anything again.

* * *

He was driving with his parents somewhere. He didn't really remember where. He had been excited, and was running from end to end in the limo, peering out windows, and tapping on the privacy window just to see if he could get a rise out of Jarvis, who had filled in for their sick usual driver.

"Anthony, knock it off. Let the man do his job," his father had barked, but his mother sent him a secret wink that made the rebuff easier to take. Even though she wasn't around much, Tony's mom was amazing when she was.

Settling down into his seat, Tony looked glanced out of the tinted window, frowning.

"Dad, aren't cars s'posed to stop at stop signs?"

"It's _supposed_, Anthony. And yes, they are supposed to stop."

"Then why isn't that one?" Tony asked, pressing his face against the glass to watch as a large SUV like his father's body guards drove sped towards them.

His father twisted in his seat to look out the window, and before he could reply there was a screech of metal on metal, the distinct smell of gasoline that Tony recognized from his father's workshop and his tool shed. They skidded sideways, and the front of the limo wrapped around a light pole. There was red stuff on the privacy window, and Tony felt sick when he remembered that Jarvis had been driving them.

The windows shattered, and he was picked up, his mother's perfume mingling with the smell of gasoline and metal. There was lots of yelling. Then he was pushed through a broken window, bits of glass getting in his hair and on his clothes, and his mother screamed, 'RUN!'

Tony hit the sidewalk and landed on his knees; they were scraped, and he felt so, so dizzy, and then the limo started burning, and it was so _hot_. Gasoline burns, his brain told him, and Tony scrambled backwards, wanting to go back and find his mother, and help his father, but then the limo just _exploded _and there was nothing left but flames.

Tony was blasted backwards, and it hurt so bad, worse than his worst tummy ache, and where was his mom, was he gonna die?

His chest hurt, and he screamed, louder and louder, and then there were arms around him, and he felt safe, but it still hurt too much to think, and then he doesn't remember anything from when he was eight.

* * *

Tony remembered a little more about being nine. After the car accident, he met Dr. Yinsen, who saved him from the explosion, and he had to stay in bed all the time, because his chest hurt.

He missed his parents (but he missed Jarvis most) and he cried a lot, but Dr. Yinsen was always there to give him a hug. Dr. Yinsen explained the 'electromagnet' that glowed like a nightlight in his chest, and Tony knew that it was repelling something, and that something was inside him, because he was a smart cookie, according to his mom, and a genius if you asked Uncle Obie.

"What is it actually doing?" Tony asked one day, running his fingers over the circle of metal sticking out of his chest, frowning at the blue-white glow it cast on his hand.

Dr. Yinsen got that sad smile his mom used to get whenever his dad wasn't very nice, and he ruffled Tony's hair, which was something new and he kind of liked it.

"When the limousine exploded, bits of metal lodged into your chest," the doctor murmured, pressing his index finger against a scar right above the electromagnet that was still sore. "Those bits of metal were headed straight for your heart. You would have died, if we hadn't put in your electromagnet."

"So…my electromagnet keeps them out of my heart, huh?" Tony inquired, looking down at the glowing contraption.

"Correct."

"Wicked."

* * *

Then Tony was ten, and he had been with Dr. Yinsen for a while. Dr. Yinsen told Tony he was the son he never had, and Tony thought that it would've been really awesome if his mom had met Dr. Yinsen in college instead of his real dad.

Sometimes he wondered why it didn't feel very different being ten, instead of nine, or even eight, but then he remembered that his chest didn't hurt anymore, that his mom and dad were dead, but he was still kind of happy.

Dr. Yinsen wouldn't let Tony go to public school, because of his electromagnet. He said, 'It's dangerous, and accidents happen all the time, Anthony.'

Sometimes Tony got upset, because he really wanted to play with other kids, wanted to feel 'normal', but then Dr. Yinsen would bake cookies and make macaroni and cheese, and it was okay again.

Usually Tony was okay with being homeschooled, because he got to stay home and work on building circuit boards and robots, because he was still a genius even with an electromagnet embedded in his chest.

He got special classes with Dr. Yinsen, and there was nice tutor who came to see him. He was great at math and science, and occasionally he got too jittery to read the books he was assigned for English, but it was okay because he got all A's.

Sometimes, if Dr. Yinsen had to go away on a conference, a man in a suit named Phil would come over, and they'd watch Super Nanny and take apart Phil's taser when Tony got bored.

Occasionally Tony forgot that he was Tony Stark before he was Tony Yinsen. They didn't talk about it much, but Tony remembered that his first dad was important and smart, and they had a really big house. Dr. Yinsen lived in a huge apartment in a nice neighborhood that was a few blocks away from his clinic, but it still wasn't as big as his old house.

Tony had his own room, with his very own bed that he got to paint red and gold. Tony accidentally got some paint on the baseboards, but Dr. Yinsen said it didn't matter. He never got mad like his first dad did.

When Tony turned ten, he got his own little 'workshop' in his room, tucked into a corner. He liked to take things apart, and put them back together. Sometimes he built new things, and sometimes he'd nick the TV turner and Dr. Yinsen's pager and make them better, though Dr. Yinsen wasn't always happy when Tony wanted to 'fix' his cell phone.

Dr. Yinsen was really proud when Tony showed him a circuit board he put together. It was the first of many parts he made for a robot he wanted to build. They went out for pizza when Tony finished coding his first robot. It wasn't a super smart robot, and Tony named him Dummy, but he moved and knocked things over, and he was still pretty cool. It was one of the few times Tony got to leave the apartment, and it was one of the best things he remembered about being with Dr. Yinsen.

* * *

Then Tony turned eleven, and everything was ruined. Tony had forgotten that he was still Tony Stark, though he went by Tony Yinsen. Things had been wonderful, and he was happier than he ever remembered being when he was Tony Stark, but the one thing his first dad had always told him was that happiness doesn't last.

One day, there was pounding on the front door, and there was a lot of yelling. Dr. Yinsen rushed into Tony's room, opening the window.

"Anthony," he said, and his normally soft voice was very urgent, and Tony was terrified.

Dr. Yinsen handed Tony the toolkit that was just for his electromagnet, with spare parts inside. There were extra 'batteries', wires, a miniature soldering iron, and a 24-in-one tool that had super tiny screwdrivers. Tony was an expert on his electromagnet by now, probably the only other one in the world besides Dr. Yinsen, and he wasn't allowed to have his toolkit unless it was super important.

Then his favorite hoodie, with **Fe** for iron embroidered on the front, was pulled over his head, and Tony felt like crying as he shoved his feet into his sneakers.

"You are an amazing boy, Anthony," Dr. Yinsen murmured, pressing a kiss to Tony's forehead. Then Tony started crying, and he hugged his second dad tight, even as the pounding got louder.

"I love you, Anthony. You will always be my son."

"You'll always be my dad," Tony hiccupped, burying his face into Dr. Yinsen's shirt.

Then Dr. Yinsen whispered into his ear, "No matter what, never tell anyone that you are Anthony Stark. Do you understand?"

Tony nodded, swallowing hard, but his throat was dry.

"Can I use Yinsen?"

Dr. Yinsen shook his head, pulling away. The sad smile was back, and Tony's heart hurt for the first time in months.

He hugged his second dad again, and then there was a crash that sounded a lot like the front door breaking off its hinges, and then he was shoved out the window and onto the fire escape.

Tony looked over his shoulder, wiping at his face as he stammered, "I-I love you!"

"I love you too, Anthony," Dr. Yinsen said, leaning through the window to press a finger against Tony's electromagnet.

"Grow up to be a good man, Anthony. You have a very special heart."

Tony's head snapped up when his bedroom door cracked in the middle, and he knew there was only a few seconds before the door would break.

"Run!" Dr. Yinsen shouted just as the door exploded. Tony scrambed down the ladder, clutching his toolkit and tried to imagine that he didn't hear gunshots like in the movies Dr. Yinsen didn't like him to watch. He was eleven, and everything was ruined.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Reviews are welcome!_


	2. Just Keep Walking

**A/N: **Chapter two, an introduction for Tony to the hateful world outside Dr. Yinsen's apartment. It starts picking up after this, but it's still a bit until we hit the actual pickpocket bit with Vaguely Fatherly Loki making an appearance. Never fear, though. He'll arrive. Eventually.

Please allow for the suspension of disbelief on electromagnets/arc reactors. I can't science.

No beta so all errors are mine. Feel free to volunteer, it won't hurt my feelings. Thanks for reading!

* * *

When Tony's feet hit the pavement after dropping from the fire escape, he started running.

He hadn't been outside the apartment more than a handful of times, and he had no idea where he was or where he was going, only that he _could not stop_.  
He ran until his chest ached and his lungs burned and he could be dying but Yinsen was _dead_ and what if they found him?

It was dark by the time he stumbled into an even darker alleyway (which didn't make sense, but it did) and collapsed in a heap on a pile of cardboard boxes. His electromagnet was buzzing loudly from the extra strain he'd put on his body, and it was all he could do just to pull out his toolkit and fumble in the dark for the right screwdriver. Was this what a heart attack felt like?

His chest was burning, tendrils of pain snaking their way through his shoulders and stomach and down his back, and he had to bite down hard on the handle of another screwdriver to keep from screaming.

Yanking up his hoodie and t-shirt, Tony popped the 'blackout' casing so that he could work with it, a bright blue-white glow lighting up his little corner of the alleyway. Levering the screwdriver in, Tony worked only by feel until he could adjust the output, twisting it three turns to the left. The buzzing faded and he could breathe easier, his chest no longer on fire.

Whimpering, Tony put the blackout casing back on, and put away his tools, breathing heavily through his nose in an attempt to meditate like Dr. Y-...someone had taught him. He purposely did not think about his apartment, or gunshots, or the smell of twisted metal and gasoline.

Instead, he took stock of what he _did_ have, which was absolutely nothing.  
He had no money, no food, no extra clothes. Just his toolkit, his favorite hoodie, and the clothes on his back.

His mind settled a bit as he continued breathing, and he was able to think a little more clearly. Something ached in his chest, and he decided to say it was the electromagnet, even though he knew very well that wasn't it.

He had nothing. Except his brain. Which was actually a pretty big something. He was a genius, right? There was no reason why he couldn't make it work.

With that thought in mind, Tony slipped his toolkit under his shirt and into the waistband of his jeans. Snuggling down in his hoodie, he shifted until he'd found something resembling comfort on top of the cardboard. Praying that the morning would not find him dead or maimed, Tony drifted into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Tony awoke with a start, a scream still trapped in the back of his throat.

The city had come alive and the sounds of car horns and the chatter of people filled the air. Even outside his chosen alleyway, plenty of people walked by without noticing him, chatting away on their cellphones or too deeply absorbed in their coffee to pay any mind to the undersized eleven year old huddled on a pile of cardboard.

He figured if he _had_ screamed, they wouldn't even notice.

Getting to his feet, Tony cataloged an entire array of aches and pains in his muscles and joints. Feet throbbing all the way to his toes, he shuffled out of the alleyway, raising a hand against the glaring sunlight that had managed to break its way through the layers of smog.

As the gears in his mind started clicking into place, Tony decided that the first order of business would be to find some place to stay. He would establish a base of operations, and from there, he would forage for food, and find a way to make money. He could do this.

* * *

"Stupid, stupid Tony," Tony snarled as he wiped at his nose, where water continually dripped onto his head from an overhead pipe.

He'd been turfed out of half a dozen potential hideouts by overzealous teenagers and street rats. Turns out that being a genius didn't mean jack shit when you were on the streets. It just meant they had something to thump you for.

Tony was smart enough to realize that he was getting a 'reality check'. It wasn't enough that he was an orphan, with an electromagnet in his chest, but he was also severely out of his depth when it came to coping with the real world.

Yinsen had sheltered him; kept him safe and sound from the real world and those who would hurt him for being Tony Stark. But it hadn't been enough, and now Tony was alone.

He could tell that there was potential on the streets. The potential to survive, based on the sheer number of homeless kids crawling around alleyways and parks. Kids were crawling out of the woodwork, and there had to be _somewhere_ that would take him in. He just had to keep looking.


	3. Cheeseburgers

**A/N: **Hey, everyone! Still working to build up momentum on Pickpocket and more chapters to Not a Cellist. I'm slow, though. Please bear with me!

* * *

In the novels he had read, in both a mansion and an apartment, Tony had always imagined starvation as missing lunch, and feeling really, really hungry by the time dinner rolled around. It was a hollow feeling in his belly, and he just wanted to fill it. Starvation only lasted a little while, and then it was over and done. That's how he had always experienced it.

After spending a few weeks on the streets, scrounging through trash cans, begging, and occasionally snicking a Starbucks muffin from somebody's purse, Tony wondered if he would ever eat again. He could feel his ribs, and he had lost weight, not to mention how tired he was all the time. Some days, he could barely summon up the energy to crawl out of his cardboard box and go looking for something to eat.

Other kids didn't really bother him once they figured out he was just some stupid undersized runt who had nothing to offer. Tony figured it didn't help that he was really, _really_ bad at interacting with other kids. He never got to see anyone when he was with Dr. Yinsen, so when they made fun of him or even just tried to talk to him, Tony got really sarcastic and mean.

The result? An ugly gash at the end of his right eyebrow. It turned out kids didn't like it when their intelligence was insulted. Not that any of them were that smart anyways.

In the end, Tony decided to start walking until he couldn't walk anymore. It surprised him how adults were able to overlook a scruffy street urchin, but it served him well enough as he ducked through crowds and headed towards Central Park. He liked to stop there, and watch people with families. Real ones, where the mothers and fathers were attentive and _alive_. The kids got food and hugs, and were wearing clothes that were clean and warm enough for the onset of fall.

He shivered reflexively as the wind picked up, kicking up piles of leaves and swirling them over the sidewalk. He liked the leaves and their bright colors, but he could have done without the wind. Trudging on, Tony caught sight of a rough looking man in a brown leather jacket, seemingly unaffected by the chilly breeze. He had a fast food bag sitting next to him, rolled down to reveal two burgers and a sleeve of fries.

Tony wasn't sure if he'd ever drooled that much in his life. Surely the guy didn't need _both_ burgers, right? The idea to take one rooted itself in Tony's brain. Dr. Yinsen's voice echoed in the back of his head, saying that stealing was wrong, but Dr. Yinsen was _gone_ and Tony was hungry so sometimes doing the wrong thing was necessary.

He had spent hours watching other kids pickpocket people and make it look easy. He had the theory down, he was just worried about the follow through.

"If you want to eat, you've got to take it first," Tony growled under his breath. He could do this.

* * *

Stealing burgers apparently wasn't Tony's forte. The attempt to steal the guy's burger ended with Tony hauled up by his hood, dangling from the guys grip like a rag doll. He kicked and struggled, but the guy wasn't fazed.

"What do you think you're doing, bud?" The man asked, popping a fry in his mouth to chew while Tony mulled over his answer.  
"Nothin'."  
"Didn't look like nothin'."  
"Well it was. Nothing, that is."  
"You try to steal food often?"  
"Does it matter?"

The guy gave Tony a good shake, keeping him in the air while reaching for another fry.

"Sure does. Where are your parents, kid?"  
"Home."  
"Where's home?"

Tony squirmed uneasily, tilting his head to the right.  
"That way?"  
"You sound so sure," the guy muttered, waving a fry in front of Tony's nose before eating it.  
"Do your parents know you're wandering Central Park in filthy clothes? Did you know I've lifted sacks of potatoes heavier than you?"

Tony snorted, pulling at the neck of his hoodie, which was starting to choke him.  
"Not my problem."

"I'll let you down if you start answering me honestly," the guy growled, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Was he one of those 'Candy + Windowless Van' guys? It didn't really matter, because candy nor not, Tony was kind of screwed. Unable to do anything else, Tony nodded.

He gasped for air when his hoodie stopped pressing against his throat, but he was quick to notice the guy still had a hand fisted in his hood, the other preoccupied with unwrapping a cheeseburger.

"Alright, kid. We'll try this again. Where are your parents?"  
"Dead," Tony ground out.  
"Guardians?"  
"D-dead," Tony hiccupped. It had been a couple of weeks, but it still gave him nightmares. He missed Dr. Yinsen.  
"Orphanage?"  
"No."  
"Warm place to sleep at night?"  
"No."  
"Hungry?"  
"Yesss," Tony hissed, wishing the guy would stop being a jerk and either let him go or feed him.

The guy moaned around his first bite of cheeseburger, Tony's stomach growling in time. He yelped when he was hauled up onto the park bench, swallowed by his hoodie and the shadow of the man next to him. A cheeseburger dropped into his lap, and Tony didn't care if he cried like a girl. It was _food_. He fell upon the burger, scrambling to rip the paper off and cram as much of it as he could fit in his mouth.

"Slow down kid, you're gonna make yourself sick," the man chided, which had Tony slowing his bites and taking time to chew. He'd never been allowed burgers, and it seemed so unfair now as the flavors filled his mouth. This was delicious. He licked his fingers after, identifying ketchup and mustard, not ashamed to eye the man's fries, which were shoved at him with a gruff sigh.

With the cheeseburger and fries scarfed down in record time and his tears wiped away, Tony slumped against the bench, drifting in a haze of content. He was still hungry, but it had tasted so good, and he felt like he could relax.

"So. No place to go at all, eh?"  
"No," Tony murmured, closing his eyes to the sun and taking deep breaths. This was when the guy was supposed to pat him on the head and send him off to freeze to death, without any weight on his conscience.

"Good. We just lost our courier, and happen to have a job opening for an errand boy. You look like you would fit the bill."

Tony opened one eye, frowning. Was he hearing things?

"Don't look at me like that. Charles would skin me alive if I let you run off on your lonesome. Plus, we can pay you under the table. Saves money somewhere. Up and at 'em, kid."

The guy stood up from the bench, stretching his arms above his head, hissing in satisfaction when several vertebrae popped. Tony sat up straighter on the bench, wringing his hands nervously. Was he supposed to go with this guy? Just like that?

"Time's a wastin', punk. I don't have all day, and you could do with some dinner and a change of clothes."  
"Where are we going?"  
"Westchester County, New York."

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Reviews are always welcome!_


	4. Safe Haven

**A/N: **Hello, all! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed Pickpocket! Each review means a lot, and I really enjoy hearing what others think/feel!

So, here's chapter four. We're kind of creeping along, until I can build up to the next stage in poor Tony's angst-ridden existence. Chapter five is in the works, so it shouldn't be too long!

As always, no beta. All errors are mine!

* * *

The guy that, for all intents and purposes kidnapped Tony, went by Logan. He was in his mid twenties, and worked closely with Charles Xavier, a man that ran a school for gifted (see: troubled) children in upstate New York. Tony stayed silent while Logan explained the place to him, staring out the window and marveling at the scenery as he wondered what was in store for him.

It took Logan an hour and a half to battle afternoon traffic and get them to 'Xavier's School for Higher Learning'. It functioned as a prep academy for kids that were sometimes too smart for their own good, and got into trouble a lot. Logan or 'Wolverine' as the kids called him, taught close quarters combat, and liked to make sure the grounds were kept up with.

Tony wasn't sure if he wanted to know why these kids needed to know how to fight, but he kept his mouth shut as Logan showed him the property. The mansion was impressive, and reminded him of his first parents, though he was quick to stuff the memory back where it belonged. Kids and teenagers roved the property, studying in gardens and playing on open patches of lawn, only a few sparing Tony curious looks.

"Were any of these kids kidnapped by strange men in the park?" Tony asked once the shock of seeing the grounds had worn off.  
"Do you normally go with strangers who offer you food?" Logan shot back, and Tony could admit that he'd been pretty stupid.

Dr. Yinsen would have grounded him for weeks if he had caught Tony going with strangers. Not that Tony was even able to see strangers to begin with, but still.

"Do you have a name? I can't go around introducing you as 'Filthy Street Rat'."  
"You could call me 'Kid I Abducted with Cheeseburger Bait'. KIACB. It rolls right off the tongue."  
"No one likes a smart ass."  
"Tony."  
"What?"  
"My name's Tony."  
"Got a last name?"  
"Nope."

Logan huffed out an irritated sigh, distracting Tony from the hand that cuffed him upside the head, leaving his ears ringing.

"Listen, kid. You're going to be living off Professor Xavier's charity. Stop the smartass shit and do what you're told, and he might just keep you around."

Rubbing a spot above his ear, Tony had to bite his lip in order to keep from mouthing off. Logan wasn't Dr. Yinsen. Logan couldn't tell him what to do. Except a tiny voice in his said that this was a chance to keep himself alive, and he should really just be quiet and shut up.

What he really wanted to do was cry, because this was all going so fast, and he could smell gasoline and hear gunshots, "You have a good heart, Anthony" reverberating around his skull. Logan was talking at him, and then he was shaking him, and finally he slapped Tony's cheek a few times, only hard enough to get his attention and snap him out of the flashbacks.

"Are you one of those kids that has panic attacks?" He asked, no judgment in his tone.  
Tony nodded once, taking deep, gasping breaths, gradually slowing his breathing down so that he was breathing in through nose and out through his mouth. He looked up at Logan, who looked like he was walking the line between concerned and pissed off, which was kind of weird to see on the guy's face.

"Is it going to keep you from working?"  
"No!" Tony said, a little too quickly. "I just...it's only been a few weeks. It'll get better. I think."  
"Right. Let's go meet Xavier and see how he feels about homeless punks."

Logan's tone suggested that Charles Xavier had to deal with homeless children more often than he'd like. The walk around the mansion took awhile as they headed towards the maintenance entrance in the back. Logan said it wasn't really proper to bring dirty homeless kids through the front door.

"How many other kids are like me?"  
"What do you mean?"  
"Street kids. Kids messed up in the head. Kids without parents," Tony clarified, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his hoodie to disguise the fact that they were shaking.

"Enough. You won't be the first. Act grateful," Logan instructed as they walked inside an outer door, that looked like a tool shed. Coats hung on one wall, ranging from light zip up hoodies to thick, heavy coats that looked very...maintenance-like. Boots were lined up on the floor, some caked with mud and others clean. A few pairs of sneakers were there as well, all cleaner than Tony's; probably smelled better too.

The other wall featured tools, from hammers and saws to rakes and garden hoes. There were a few tool belts, a work bench, and tucked in the far corner was a bicycle, far too small for Logan or any other adult to use (unless they were into BMX or something).

"That's the courier bike. You'll be running packages and mail and shit around the mansion grounds and in town. Short ride away, nice folks. Charles does a lot of business with them, building goodwill for the punks that don't quite get the purpose of their stay here. C'mon. No sense in keeping him waiting."

Tony scrambled to follow Logan as he lengthened his strides, navigating the maze of a mansion with ease. The temptation to stop and peer in rooms that functioned as computer and science labs was overwhelming, but Logan took care of it by grabbing a handful of Tony's hood and dragging him along.

As they made their way up a set of narrow stairs set at the back of the house, the mansion took on an eerie silence. Their footsteps were hushed by thick blue carpeting, and Tony marveled at the sensation of sinking into the floor with each step. While he was wondering what it would feel like to be barefoot, Logan led/dragged him down the corridor, in which carpet had given way to polished wood. They stopped in front of a large, ornately carved door. The wood looked old, but the keypad mounted at waist height was state of the art. Tony itched to get his hands on it and tear it apart and see how it worked, but Logan had other ideas.

Logan knocked, and Tony could hear the snick of a lock and hydraulics at work as the door opened. Following Logan over the threshold, Tony's jaw dropped. Before him was a study that dwarfed anything from his first dad's mansion. Dr. Yinsen's study had been nice, but nothing like the study in Xavier's mansion. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, the shelves full of classics and books on history and more topics than Tony could really dream of. The wall that would have been on the outside of the mansion featured a wide fireplace, the flames banked low but still keeping the room warm.

A large desk faced the door from the center the room, a bald man seated behind it. He was thumbing through a sheaf of papers, occasionally marking in the margins with a blue fountain pen.

"Is that your tag along, Logan?" The man asked without looking up.  
"Yup. He's a little mouthy, but I think he'll do a good job."  
"Why don't you step outside for a moment, Logan? I would like to speak with Anthony alone."

Tony felt a trill of alarm go off in his head, chills racing up his spin and leaving the hair on his arms standing up. It felt as if someone dumped ice water over him, and he was more than alert as Logan saluted Xavier and sauntered out the door, whistling as it shut behind him.

"Logan says he found you in Central Park, attempting to divest him of a cheeseburger," Xavier began, setting aside his paperwork then clasping his hands on his blotter.

Tony had heard no such thing. When had Logan found the time to talk to Xavier and tell him his name? Had Tony ever called himself Anthony? Should he be rethinking this whole 'Going With Strangers' plan?

Plan B featured running off the property as fast as he could and finding somewhere to stay, because this was all too sketchy to be remotely safe. Even if he did run, he didn't even know where to stay in New York City, let alone Westchester County.

"Y-yeah," Tony stuttered, hating himself for the weakness. The kids on the street weren't weak. Tony wished he could be like them, instead of the kid he was when he ran from Dr. Yinsen's apartment.

"Stealing is a less than admirable trait, Anthony. Why should I let a would-be thief into my school and trust him with my correspondence?"

It hit Tony, as his chest constricted under his electromagnet, that he felt _guilty_ about it. That he hadn't felt guilty in a couple of weeks and Dr. Yinsen would have wanted him to feel guilty, because that meant that he knew the difference between right and wrong. He did, he really did.

"I..." Tears welled up in his eyes, and he furiously wiped them away with a grimy sleeve. He wanted to go home. He wanted to _have_ a home.

Xavier waited, his expression serene as he and Tony locked gazes. Tony wanted to trust this man.

"I didn't...I was so hungry, sir. I haven't...there's no food where I live. Logan had more than one cheeseburger and I didn't think about it. I didn't mean to upset him."

"Where do you live, Anthony?" Again, Xavier's eerie sense of knowing made Tony uneasy.  
"New York City."  
"Where in New York City?"

_Crap._

"Umm...somewhere near Central Park? I don't know the street name."  
"Surely you know where you live, Anthony," Xavier said with a disarming smile. "A boy your age is smart enough to know his own address."  
"I...uh...it depends on the weather."  
"Your address does? What impact would the weather have on your address?"

Sighing, Tony ran a hand through his greasy hair, wishing he could take a long, hot shower. Knowing miracles didn't exist, he stuffed his hands back into his hoodie pocket and opted for honesty, since that worked so well with these weird people.

"If it's nice, I can stay in an alleyway or something. If it's raining, I find an overpass and hope the kids are nice enough to share a spot by the fire or something. Sometimes I stay in sewer drains, if they're big enough," he mumbled, dropping his head to stare at the carpet.

"Where are your parents, Anthony?" Xavier asked, not unkindly. His voice was gentle, and when Tony peeked out from the fringe of his hair, the man's brow was furrowed with what looked like concern.

"Dead."  
"Guardians? Relatives?"  
"Dead. I don't have any relatives."  
"What's your name?"  
"Anthony. But I like Tony better."  
"Your last name?"  
"I don't have one."

Xavier sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair while observing Tony's shuffling in place. Tony figured this was when he got shipped off to an orphanage or something, where they would figure out his secret and then he'd be studied like a lab rat. His hand twitched in an attempt to cover his electromagnet, but he managed to look like he was fidgeting.

"You certainly wouldn't be the first orphan to end up on my doorstep, Tony. Others have done far worse than steal food from Logan to end up here. If you were to work as our courier, I would pay you an hourly wage. You will be required to attend classes where you can, and you will be assigned additional chores since you will be a scholarship case."

Nodding along, Tony realized that he felt numb. Was he really going to get the chance to go to school? The offer seemed too good to be true, but he clung to the hope that Charles Xavier truly was a good man.

"I want your assurance that you won't attempt to steal from this school, Anthony. I do not abide thieves or deception."

Tony looked up, panicked.

"No! I won't steal, ever. I promise! I-I could make it up to you and Logan...I'm really good at fixing things! I know how computers run and I'm smart and I already know I can make your locks better and I...I can be _good_, Professor Xavier," Tony explained in a rush, his voice cracking. He didn't want to be a bad kid. He wanted to be good.

Xavier's expression softened, and he moved out from behind the desk, the whirring of an electric motor distracting Tony from his misery. The man was in a modified electric wheelchair, and Tony wanted nothing more than to plunge his hands into the wiring. He rolled around the desk and stopped in front of Tony, leaning forward to chuck him under the chin with two fingers.

"I have every faith that you can, Anthony. We'll get you a bath and some clothes to start with, and then we'll see about dinner. Tomorrow, you will take placement tests, and we will see to it about your job. Does that sound amenable to you?"

Tony nodded, sniffling slightly while lifting silent prayers that his heart wouldn't beat louder than his electromagnet. He heard the door open again, and looked up as Logan strolled in with a lazy grin and an armful of clothes.

"Time to wash up, kid. You stink."

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Reviews are welcome!_


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